The Night
by Dream Wreaver
Summary: She calls me... Songfic/ character study-ish. Some spoilers but hopefully not really


Finals are killing me but what else is new? Cross posting of a songfic I wrote for gabriel-fucking-agrest on Tumblr. Set to The Night by Voltaire, give it a listen.

Alright, let's enjoy!

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He'd woken up in a cold sweat, heart pounding and sitting straight up as his thoughts whirled. Something within him thrummed restlessly and he needed to get up. It was god only knew what time at night or in the early morning. It was cold, had the heat kicked off at some point? Slipping into his house-shoes Gabriel strode determinedly for his wife's gilded portrait which contained his safe and the entrance to his secret lair. His wife shone falsely under the moonlight that filtered through the windows. So close, and yet always so far. She continued to elude him, or was it perhaps the other way around? Had there not been instances when he was almost glad he'd been foiled? The instance with Jackady, certainly. And some of his other, more embarrassing champions.

The buttons were pushed and he took the elevator into the secret room. He raised his wings, the butterflies swarmed around him. The window opened. But he could sense no one in distress. Then what was driving him? He sensed it then. A powerful presence, the same type of presence he felt when Ladybug and Chat Noir were active. A miraculous holder, but who? They grew closer to him. Closer, closer. Then he felt the presence as keenly as if they were right behind him. Someone was in his house. But as far as his research had shown only the butterfly had the power to sense when another holder was near. So they didn't know he was Hawkmoth. They couldn't, unless they had their suspicions. But his own civilian akumatization was supposed to have taken care of that! Well, if they were here then they must have known. Time to take the fight to them.

Hawkmoth slunk back into his own abode and peered about. He would have to make sure to have Nathalie edit the security footage later, in case his precocious progeny ever stumbled across this. But this room was clear, despite the near suffocating closeness of the other holder's presence in his home. He returned to the lobby and then he saw them. A figure cloaked in shadow at the landing of his stairs. He wanted to speak, but found he couldn't. For their part the figure was studying the rather morose portrait that adorned the wallspace, replacing the picture of the once happy family that had been its predecessor.

And then they turned. Hawkmoth felt his heart stop. Paon. Peacock, it was the peacock. He saw the brooch that was supposed to have been locked away in his safe glimmering in a quick flash of the silvery blue moonlight. She had deep set pink eyes, colder than his own. But cold with concern, cold with fury, not cold with detachment. It was a sentiment he didn't even think possible. She had no weapons in hand, though that certainly didn't mean they weren't on hand. With slow measured steps she came down to him, heels clicking on the marble stairs with punctuated precision. One dark leg constantly creeping out from the slit in her fanned skirt. At the foot of the stairs she stopped, staring at him. Those pink eyes fathomless and unreadable.

She bent forward and grabbed a handful of her skirt. With a swirl of the cloth she'd disappeared, reappearing behind him and catching him off guard. There was a tiny little smirk, he could sense it. Her smug satisfaction. He wanted to fight, to call the police. But even dropping the transformation he would have to show the footage and the game would be over. Only so many hands could be greased without further suspicion being raised. As if sensing his line of thought Paon raised a finger to her lips, miming the international symbol for 'hush'. The same hand then cupped itself near her ear, as if telling him to listen. To what, he could not figure out. A finger was crooked in his direction, she wanted him to follow her. In the darkness she looked like she was decked in shadow, dressed in black. And then she rushed forth, intent on reaching the doors. Instinctively he grabbed her wrist and stopped her. She looked at him, eyes asking all the questions her mouth would not.

A tremor of enjoyment ran through him. This was fun. The chase, the capture, the reveal would be just as sweet. And then that brooch would be locked back in his safe where it belonged. His hand reached for it, slowly. But she jerked out of his grasp and ran, retreating further into the house. With a sigh of exasperation that was more theatric than genuine he followed after. She was good, whoever she was. That was a fact that he had to admit. She always remained a step ahead of him, though he noticed she strayed far from the area of the mansion where his son resided. So she knew about Adrien too, well, she had to if she knew who he was and had come here. But she also had to know that Adrien didn't know who he was, or else she likely wouldn't have cared about bringing the fight within his vicinity. So it had to be someone close… didn't it? Perhaps he hadn't been as careful as he thought he had.

Truly, it was funny. Gabriel knew that the miraculous, regardless of their abilities, were only supposed to be used for good. His wife, she'd been a good person, if a tad emotional. Duusu, she'd been a good match for his spouse. But that Paon had been radiant and full of life, full of hope. Of that he was certain. This Paon was different. If his wife had been the day, this woman was most certainly the night. A familiar shadow of comfort, and it called to him. How could it not? Wasn't the most wonderful thing in the world being accepted intrinsically, instinctively without question or explanation? This Paon was a kindred spirit, and the knowledge was a heady sensation.

The chase continued, to the point where it was more a game than a fight. Maybe even a dance. She went for the door again, and he caught her, holding fast. She struggled against him, her footwork light and dainty, her movements more calculated than frenzied. And Hawkmoth responded in kind. The night outside was their only witness to this game, that and their silhouettes as they moved about the floor. How many nights had he lain awake thinking about the world outside. Paris was the city of lights, and he enjoyed it, but he enjoyed the quiet too. The nights were quite, more so than the days. It was comforting.

In the midst of all this he'd forgotten what he wanted. He continued to reach for the brooch as she continued to evade him. But his grip kept her from totally escaping. At some point she pulled back enough to lose her balance, it was only his hold on her arm that kept her somewhat upright. And now he was in the perfect position to take the brooch. But before he could, the flash of light that accompanied a transformation or detransformation shone. The figure he now held was but a normal civilian as Duusu spiraled out of the brooch and zipped off to hide somewhere. She actually was dressed in black, a black nightgown that swirled airily around her legs. Her fingers clutched at his forearm and used it to leverage her own balance back. Her face came into view and his jaw actually dropped.

With her black hair unbound and loose in a way he'd never seen it, glasses gone, makeup free. A smirk on her lips as a stray piece of her red bangs fell over her mischievous eyes. Nathalie, it was Nathalie. He should have known, how could he have not figured it out before then? She was the only one that fit all the criteria. But when had she had the opportunity to take the brooch? He reviewed all his security footage and he'd never seen her take it.

Hawkmoth was shell-shocked. And then she continued to surprise him. Nathalie rocked forward on her toes and then arched her back, arm and other leg going out in rhythm. She wanted to dance, but then she drew closer, fingers playing over his mask, caressing his chest, snatching his own brooch. He felt the electricity as his transformation was forcibly dropped. Nooroo scurried off after his fellow Kawmi. Before Gabriel could deal with that though, Nathalie was nimbly dancing away, a come hither smile on her face and in her eyes and the crook of the finger as she held his miraculous in a fist close to her heart.

His blood pounded, thundering in time with the thrum of his heart. An emotion he hadn't felt in years crashed over him. What was she thinking? What was he thinking? Desire, he felt desire for power, desire for the return of his past, desire for his wife and his wife alone. But the silver band on his finger meant nothing to the rest of him. His wife had been the day, bright and shining and everything he was told to reach for. He'd had the sun in his grasp and it had left him burnt. The shadows of darkness, of comfort and understanding and intrinsic relation on a level not even his own flesh and blood couldn't attain. There was a darkness in him that matched the darkness in her, not evil, but darkness all the same. The cold, yet soft and forgiving darkness that was balm to the wounds the sun's heat had left upon him. In that moment, nothing felt real. And a moment was all it took for him to react without thinking.

He went after her. Her body language said demurity but there was a coquettishness in her smile. The hand she'd extended towards him, he took it and dragged her along. To his atelier. That was his destination. He wanted, he wanted but there was a part of him that prevented the use of any other room. The burn was still there, still painful, but the phantom kind of pain that made him miss his loss all the more. Materials were swept off the table as he effortlessly lifted her onto it. She clung to him, which was surprising. Gabriel never took Nathalie for the clingy type, but then, Nathalie had always been all professionalism when it came to him. Now was not about that. Hands roamed, fabric was shifted and pulled and tugged. She bit as his lip even as panting and harsh gasps resounded in his ears. The pounding in of his blood reverberated through his body. And just as it reached the most unbearable level-

He woke up, alone in his bed. He was slick and drenched with cold sweat. Blindly Gabriel fumbled for his glasses, hoping the restoration of his sight would provide some clarity as to what that had been about. A dream, he reasoned to himself. It had all been nothing more than a dream. But had it? He needed to make sure. Without a care as to the time or who might be within his home he donned a dressing gown and raced to the safe. As soon as he heard it unlock he wrenched open the door with enough force that -had he been transformed even part way- it would have been ripped off its hinges. Everything had remained in its place, including the sealed brooch next to the smaller picture of his spouse. The relief was palpable as his posture faltered. He sagged, nearly sinking to his knees. And yet, disappointment was there also. Why was he disappointed? Everything was as it should have been.

Gabriel returned to his room only to notice the time. Nathalie herself would be here in short order. The working day was well-begun, and hopefully he would have some time to sneak away and try for Ladybug and Chat Noir's miraculouses again. Maybe this time he would be successful. But the day came and went as predictable as usual. Right down to the Akuma's defeat when victory was nearly in his grasp. Nathalie was waiting with her tablet in hand when he returned, in furious dejection. She had a few items for him to look over. He tried to remain calm, the dream he had had had been just that, a dream. It didn't mean anything. But that didn't mean his trying to act like everything was normal made it so. If anything it disrupted the normal rhythm of things and made it obvious that something was wrong. Though to her credit if Nathalie noticed this she said nothing. Until now.

"Sir, is everything alright?" she asked him.

"Fine," he replied brusquely, "Just a lot on my mind."

"You look tired, more so than usual," she commented, "Trouble sleeping?"

It was an innocuous question, one made from a logical observation. It meant nothing, she didn't know what exactly had tormented him during the night, "Something like that." was his noncommittal reply.

"I see," she said measuredly, "Is there anything you would like for me to have prepared to help you sleep tonight sir?"

"No," a quick glance at the clock told him it was about time for the working day to end. Thank goodness, "You may return home Nathalie," he instructed, "All the work here needs to be approved by me personally. Your work is already finished I presume?"

"All the urgent work," she agreed, "But I prefer to get a headstart on things before they become urgent all the same."

"No, you do enough as it is," Gabriel told her, "Go home, if need be I can compensate you for overtime at a later date."

"Did I do something to upset you sir?" was it him or did she sound afraid? Since when? Nathalie Sancoeur was never afraid.

"No," he almost felt bad, she hadn't done anything at all. His reason for being upset had to do with his own lack of self-control and fidelity, that was his own problem, not hers, "I just… I have a lot on my mind and I would prefer to be alone."

"Not to blur the line between boss and subordinate sir," she said, and he had to laugh at the irony of that. She knew he was a supervillain, tried to arrange his schedule around to fit in attempts to recover children's jewelry for him; but the line hadn't yet been blurred? "However, if you need someone to talk to, about," she paused again, inclining her head in the direction of the portrait which held the key to all his secrets, "everything, I am here you know."

"The sentiment is unnecessary but appreciated. Thank you Nathalie, but you may go."

She nodded, "Of course sir, have a good night."

He waved his hand at her, effectively dismissing her without a word. He heard the clicking of Nathalie's heels as she strode out the door, leaving him alone with his own thoughts. There was a deafening quality to the way the door shut behind her. Clutching her tablet tight against her chest, Nathalie cast her gaze to the floor. And then, a smile -secretive and perhaps even a bit wicked- stretched across her face.

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